Mythic Dusk (Elder Scrolls Fanfiction)
by Elessar181
Summary: The Oblivion Crisis is over. Tamriel is safe, for the time being. Hal the Bosmer seeks to contact the Mythic Dawn in order to recover from his past during the Five Year War in Valenwood. Little does he know, his path will take him away from the Dawn, and into the Dusk.
1. Part One - Decipher

Books. Books and riddles. There could never be a straightforward way to get this far, could there? All I've done to collect these blasted books and I still haven't quite reached my goal. My purpose.

"Surviving there, Hal?"

I grunted in response.

"You've been pouring over those pages for hours now. What are you even looking for?"

Cicero made to move towards my secluded corner of the inn. Maybe it was the warning look of fire I gave him that made him stop. Or maybe it was the dagger I thrust into the wooden table. I just can't tell sometimes.

His hands went up in a signal of surrender. "Easy there. I was just curious."

I liked Cicero. He's a good friend to have. His brothers run a successful business, and it's always a good idea to have a merchant willing to take things off your hands. But being friends does not mean he's privy to all my secrets. Sometimes a reminder has to be sent.

My hand fiddled with the hilt of my dagger as I studied page after page of the books again. There had to be something here. The sponsor said as much. Though, something didn't seem right about her. I, of all people, understand the need for secrecy, but a sewer hardly feels a fitting place for such a notorious cult. It may have been several years since the Oblivion Crisis, but the Mythic Dawn were far some silent. They acted much like the Assassin's Guild now, still striking out at those connected with Dagon's defeat from the shadows. It had been a pain to learn what I had so far, and the commentaries proved as elusive as is to be expected from a cult so detested. Us Bosmer's are renowned hunters and hunt for these books I did. Now I just had to decipher a way to reach the Dawn.

With a sigh, I realised I was getting nowhere. Perhaps Cicero was right: maybe fresh air would do me some good. A packed the four volumes and my notes into my knapsack. I nodded at Augusta as I passed the main desk; she smiled in return. A generous tip, and a quiet request for some peace did wonders at repelling unwanted questions. Septims did a wonderful job at keeping mouths shut, even in a place as venerable as the Tiber Septim Hotel.

It was only after choosing the hotel I realised the irony behind making camp here. Perhaps I was drawn to the notion of searching for the old Emperor's nemesis whilst living in a place devoted to him. Hiding in plain sight. I smiled at the thought.

The room was cosy. I wasn't for the luxurious life, but it was a nice change to escape the rugged life for a while. My knapsack I slid under the bed; my dagger I placed on the bedside table. I checked under the pillow for the second one. It was an old ritual of mine. Place one in plain sight, to put an attacker off guard. Heck, even let them take it and threaten you. But when they least expect, stick 'em with the hidden one. Works a charm.

My sword lay across the chair. My dagger rarely left my side, unless the sword took my fancy. It was a fine blade. Thin and light, much like a cutlass. Designed for fast feet and quick stabs and slashes, it suited me perfectly. I couldn't stand the heavy knights in their clunky armour. A well-placed stab or arrow can penetrate even the thickest of men, a skill I'd become an adept at over the years.

The Imperial City is the perfect place for an evening stroll. The streets are rarely packed, and I avoid the Market District like the plague. Awash with too many merchants and hopeful adventurers, turning their loot into a comfortable profit. Money is all well and fine, but do they not realise there's more to life than just exploring the unexplored of Tamriel?

Perhaps now is as good a time as any to explain why I search for the Mythic Dawn. I was a soldier during the Five Year War. I was there during the Assault on Vindisi. I saw ... things no Elf should have to see. Things like that change you. Witnessing the Wild Hunt firsthand ... something broke inside me. Nothing seems moral or immoral to me anymore. Us Bosmers, to have something so destructive, so vile, innate within us is just too much.

I left my family at that point. A wife, even a child of three. The love I bore for them, it was still there, but I could no longer access it. A veil lay across my feelings, an impenetrable defence against what lay beneath. My mind seemed to consider it both a blessing and a curse. I'm not sure what I'd call it.

The journey to Cyrodiil proved simpler than I had anticipated. The Oblivion Crisis had ended, our "saviour" Martin Septim now a permanent landmark in the Imperial City. I've seen it. I was underwhelmed. Valenwood has a city that moves around the province given a certain season; what does the Imperial City? Another shrine to Akatosh.

Part of me would have welcomed a Daedric victory. I know the words I say, and I know the horror people find in them, but a broken mind will do that to a person. There would be much adventure to find in a world dominated by Mehrunes Dagon.

I do not mean to say I was seeking the Dawn for this purpose. That time had passed. Yet I felt a horrific allure towards the cult, one I was too damaged and weak to resist.

It was as I was walking by the Waterfront, the setting sun glistening like rubies on the water's edge, that my mind travelled back to my meeting with the Sponsor in the sewers. It had been a strange meeting. Not necessarily difficult, just strange. I had been expecting a stern, emotionless devotee to interrogate me. Instead, I was greeted by a woman, her legs crossed as she reclined on a chair. The gloom had been hard to pierce, but I could've sworn she was swaying. Her eyes never seemed to focus on me properly.

That was about it. She asked my name, I obliged, she passed me Volume Four and that was about it. No conversation, no questions, just an unsuspected willingness to gift me the mysterious volume.

I'm not sure where the brainwave came from. Perhaps it was fate, but fate and I have never been on a first name basis. Regardless, I cut my walk short and half ran back to the Tiber Septim. Sprawling the four volumes across my bed, my excitement rose with each paragraph I read, as a hidden text formed from the first letter of each paragraph revealed itself to me. I could not stop the grin from rising to my face. Even the veil surrounding my emotions had to break occasionally.

Fate, it seemed, was not done with playing tricks on me. My door burst open, an Imperial Legion barging in, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. Cicero stood behind him and it all clicked in my head. The bastard had routed through my stuff. Intrigue would be the death of us all.

I made a move for my dagger, before freezing as the guard drew his sword. "Stop right there, criminal scum!" he brandished the blade at me, the silver glistening in the candlelight. "We have it on good authority you consort with the Mythic Dawn. The next move is yours – resist arrest and I will strike you down where you stand, filth!"

Cicero hadn't moved, for good reason. My eyes bore into his. They held him there, like a spider paralyses its victim. The guard moved towards me cautiously, flicking my dagger off the tabletop. He relaxed then. Big mistake.

As he lowered his sword, with a litheness expected of an assassin, I dove my hand under my pillow and came spinning round. My second dagger lodged itself in the guard's neck, the resistance of his flesh nothing more than a momentary distraction before I flicked my wrist and sent the dagger flying towards Cicero. It caught him full on in the chest, the momentum of it carrying him backwards into the corridor, knocking over a vase as he went.

The pounding of footsteps coming up the stairs filled my ears. Clanking, armoured footsteps. It must have been more Imperials, the commotion enough to stir even their lazy hides into action. I spat on the floor. I don't remember feeling fear, but perhaps that was just the adrenaline coursing through my body. There was no time to collect my daggers, or even the volumes. So I did the only logical thing.

I jumped out the second storey window.


	2. Part Two - Locate

Here's the tricky thing. To remain in the Imperial City, after stabbing one of their own, is close to madness. I may slate the Legion any chance I get, but it can't be denied their presence is felt through the districts. Even the Waterfront, a place for thieves and beggars, can't escape their tainted righteousness.

It's not a very easy city to hide in. I was sure by now that Augusta would've given them an accurate description of myself. Money will only buy so much loyalty, especially if another patron is killed. I knew there should be some remorse within me. After all, Cicero was the closest thing to a friend I had made over the past two months I'd spent in the Imperial City. Yet his death was justified, in my head. Where was his loyalty, for the times we drank together, where I confessed of my times in Valenwood? It took a lot for me to tell my secrets, even longer for my trust to be earned. Another reason Cicero now lay dead. Mistrust leads to mishaps and he was certainly in one now.

Unfortunately for me, the city's population did not extend to many Wood Elves. My ears and height stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the Imperials and High Elves that called this place home. There may be a great number of adventurers and treasure seekers who pass through, but few spent time outside of the Market District. Digression was needed if I was to reach Green Emperor Way.

My time fighting the Khajiit in Valenwood lent me many favourable skills. My innate litheness saw me promoted to Scout within a matter of weeks. Then, after displaying a certain talent for quick, precise killing, I fulfilled the role of Assassin. There were three of us in total; three of us trusted to carry out the dirty work the Bosmeri did not want direct ties to.

I'm the only one left now. A Cat killed Athgor; a big Cathay-raht, its favoured claws exchanged for a heavy maul in the heat of battle. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance in open combat. Once his leg was broken, that was it. The maul burst his head like a watermelon. At the time I struggled to watch. Now I find the idea near-comical.

The other ... The Wild Hunt took her. I refuse to think of what became of her. Even for an Assassin, no one deserves such an end. If the end ever came for them, trapped as they were.

I try not to let my mind fixate on the past. Too many haunts to fall back into. These memoirs are tame in comparison to the memories I could dredge up from my time back in Valenwood. Maybe one day I'll note them down like this one. Maybe.

Either way, skulking through the city was not a task a relished achieving. I knew how to stick to the shadows, how to judge a guard's patrol and move accordingly. Patience and adrenaline are not a healthy concoction. The energy coursing through my body, the insatiable feeling of invincible power that the excitement brought caused my leg to twitch as I waited in the shadows for a guard to pass.

Not only was there a city-wide Elf hunt for me, but I also happened to be heading towards for the centre. There was no escaping the White Gold Tower and its vigilant Palace Guards. Since the Oblivion Crisis the security around it seems to have tripled. Perhaps it's due to Potentate Ocato and his ever-growing paranoia. You can't really blame him. If I was in his position, I'd lock the doors to the tower and never open them again. Except he ploughs on, as a leader must, in times of dire need. The empire relies heavily on him, and he gives as much as he can, I'll give him that. I wouldn't be surprised if he was assassinated in the next few years, though. Greed for the Ruby Throne grows in the minds of all those with an inkling for power. Such is the way a leaderless empire will govern itself, creating more strife amongst existing strife.

Somehow, I stole my way past the gates and into Green Emperor Way. I had to hand it to the White-Gold Tower, it was certainly impressive. There's a big historical meaning behind the tower that I've never bothered to learn. I can appreciate the Ayleid architecture but the symbolism is lost on me. Stone is stone, no matter where or what it is wrought for.

My admiration for the tower almost caused me to be caught. A guard swung his torch far too close to my shadows for my liking, and lost in thought as I was, I flinched at the intrusion. I think there was a moment where the guard considered investigating the movement, but a cry in the distance sent him running that way. In my experience, luck is a fickle thing. It would envelop me now, but later, it would abandon me at a pivotal moment. I just had to make sure I was best prepared for that moment.

The skulking became easier as dusk drew around it. The layout around the tower made sticking to the shadows a whole lot easier. I didn't mind walking among the tombstones. The dead scare me no more than the living, especially when they're buried ten feet under.

Having cracked the code in the volumes, it was only a matter of following the instructions. "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Setting Sun" seems pretty straightforward to me. I followed the tombstones around, letting the shadow of the tower be my guide to the correct location.

And there it was. A map of Cyrodiil on the side of an ornate tombstone. I cared little for whose tomb it was, all I could focus on was the market, indicating what, by the simplest assumption, must be the location for the Mythic Dawn. Now it was just a case of sneaking out of the city. If I could just make it to the Market District, I could use the sewers to escape. I sighed, checking my sword was loosened in its scabbard. You could never be too careful.

I said earlier that luck was a fickle thing. I came so close to an escape without detection. It was that fetcher, Thoronir, who drew attention to my creeping. Betrayed by a fellow Bosmeri! The Divines really do have a twisted sense of humour.

Why he skulked near the entrance of the sewers I did not know. I thought those nefarious days of his were over. It may have been several long years, but people never forgot his grave robbed goods, nor how he was thwarted by the Champion of Cyrodiil.

Oh, the Champion of Cyrodiil. How I envy her life. Only once have I seen her in person. And then it was nothing more than a fleeting glimpse as she entered the White Gold Tower. Adorned in her Imperial Dragon Armour, she looked every bit as regal as the Emperors of old did. Still, it matters little. Our paths lead in very different directions, proven by my night's activities. I skulk, she struts. Nothing more than polar opposites.

I fled into the sewers before Thoronir had chance to raise the guards. Losing them would be easy amongst the maze in the sewers, especially for one as light-footed as myself. I'd brought no torch but it was no matter. A quick word of incantation, and a flash of purple light later, I could see as clearly in the dark as though it was daylight down in the sewers. It was a trick I'd picked up during my time as a Scout. It gave a tremendous advantage to see things that would otherwise be shrouded by the night.

In the previous weeks I had spent hours poring over maps of the sewers, knowing that if things were to go array, which I undoubtedly knew they would when the Mythic Dawn were involved, they would be my best means to escape the Imperial City. It did not take me long to navigate my way out and into the open. I came out of the south-east exit, knowing full well that my destination lay along the shores of the Upper Niben, close enough to walk without my fatigue getting the better of me. I had survived worse marches before in my life.

There was the problem of crossing Lake Rumare, but a fascination of the arcane earlier in life left me with an arsenal of useful spells. Another incantation and I stepped onto the surface of the water. The first few times water-walking had felt weird and far from safe. But, as time progressed, and I grew more confident in my arcane abilities, it felt as normal as walking on solid ground. It sure beat swimming and getting wet.

Shinbone Cave wasn't difficult to find. I found a trail left by goblins long before I reached it. Strange, to think the Mythic Dawn would choose to live in a place guarded by goblins. I supposed few were willing to challenge the goblins and their mischievous ways of fighting. Fortunately for me, my ways were just as mischievous. I snuck up on the first three and slit their throats without a sound. The fourth spotted me, yet had time to do little more than unsling its bow before my sword swept across its chest.

That was it for those outside. The smell is what hit me first as I entered the cave. Goblins are far from sanitary creatures, and the cave reflected that. There's always an abundance of giant rats in the dark recesses of Cyrodiil, and Shinbone Cave was no exception.

I slew the goblins and their rats. I was never really in any danger. Goblins may be numerous, but they pose little threat to a nimble Elf like me. I took a lightning bolt to the chest and felt nothing. The next moment, the shaman's head came off its shoulders.

Fighting was all well and good, but I couldn't shrug the feeling that something was wrong here. I recognised the need for a front, but the goblins had made a thriving nest in this cave. Surely the Mythic Dawn wouldn't let their headquarters be overrun by these foul creatures?

It was not until all the goblins were dead, and I reached a rickety wooden door that I had some confirmation that my path was correct. Etched into a descending stalactite was a glowing setting sun – the symbol for the Mythic Dawn. Euphoria filled me. Here I was, finally, at the turning point of my life. My hunt since arriving in Cyrodiil was finally over. I pushed my way through the door.

"Dawn is breaking."

I smiled, though the voice remained hidden beyond even my night eye. "Greet the new day."

The shadows moved. A red-cloaked High Elf stepped towards me. He wore a sad smile, and for the first time that evening I felt truly unsure of what was about to happen. The Elf extended his palm towards me and placed it on my chest. "Dusk follows dawn," he said, before his palm bled white, and I felt reality fall away.


	3. Part Three - Initiate

"Wha- when-?"

"Since the first page," the High Elf said, with that same sad smile. It boiled my blood, the pathetic look of sympathy directed by her. At that moment I wanted to kill him, to humiliate him, to tear him limb from limb in the most literal of senses. But something held me back. Maybe it was the shameful fact that I had been humiliated, that I had been tricked, an illusion placed on me since the very start of my hunt. And the worst part was that I hadn't noticed. Not even had an inkling of suspicion tickled my thoughts.

Everything was different. Memories warped and shifted even as they came to the forefront of my mind. The symbol outside the door was not the Mythic Dawn, but a mimic, an inverted copy in silver rather than the golden. The Volumes, though still covered as though they belonged to the Dawn, now showed different. Volume One opened with an apology letter, a seek for forgiveness for such a treachery. It had altered my mind, my very sight. It made me shudder that my willpower had not been strong enough to see through it.

I shook my head, the memories rattling but not changing. The truth laid bare before me. "So who are you?"

"I am Sanirion."

"Don't test my patience." My words came out as a growl, my hand toying with the hilt of my sword.

Sanirion merely regarded me, a slight tilt to the angle of his head. "We are the Mythic Dusk."

"Never heard of you." I meant it with as much venom as possible. I felt mocked, and wanted to reciprocate the feeling. A lack of infamy hardly seemed my time.

"We were still able to dope you, were we not?" It was like he had read my mind.

I didn't like it. I felt weak, powerless. Vulnerable. My sword was out of its scabbard in a flash. Sanirion's expression changed. The sad smile dissolved away, into what I took as fear. It felt good to be feared. Some twisted part of me revelled in the intoxicating knowledge that I was the cause. Call me broken, but an Assassin can wield fear as well as he can wield a dagger.

But Sanirion's panic did not last long. I was sick of these illusions. The fleeting moment of fear that crossed his high cheekbones reverted back to the same sad smile. Except there was something dangerous in his eyes. A twinkle, of what could be sadistic mirth.

I lunged forwards, for once not feeling entirely safe in my position. Before my blade could pierce his robed chest, he disappeared into the darkness, veiled once again even from my night eye. My outstretched blade was met by another.

We held each other, no sight to aid us. Only the straining of muscles, as our strength was exerted through the extensions of our arms. I lost. Two amber eyes blazed out of the gloom, and that momentary distraction was enough for my grip to slip.

Cold metal touched my neck. The eyes leant in closer. "The Mythic Dusk wishes to welcome you to our order." The voice was Argonian. I had a respect for the lizards that extended beyond this particular one's ability to best me. Call it a mutual interest in sneaking.

"And if I refuse?" Perhaps you'd noticed, but the concept of death has little hold over me. I've seen so much, and dealt out enough myself, to not fear the severing of my life-strings. Still, the further pressure of a blade against my neck, a thin trickle of blood escaping, is not an ideal situation. Death may not scare me, but torture sure as Oblivion did. I feel no shame in admitting that.

"We've watched you for a while," rasped the Argonian. "Since you crossed the border into Cyrodiil. Assassins of all races are welcomed to join."

"You're a Shadowscale." I wasn't sure how I knew. It was a guess, but an educated one. Assassins never take random stabs in the dark, that much is true of both murder and assumptions. Only a Shadowscale, trained from birth, could cross swords with an expert and win.

"Former." The blade was released from my throat. I gave it a rub, as I heard Sanirion chant. His very body began to glow, lighting up the cavern we were in. "My name is Neek," continued the Argonian, lowering his blade.

"Halritch. Pleasure," I said, before lunging forwards with my sword once again. At the time, I had no reasoning for pressing the attack. Now I reflect back, I think it was a test. To push these cultists as far as possible, to see how willing they were to forgive me my sins. Because I had many.

A spell hit me before my blade even came close to reaching Neek. A stiffness swept over me, and I keeled over in the ridiculous position my lunge had placed me in. If it was me witnessing such a thing, I'm sure I would've laughed.

I'm not sure what happened next. Being paralysed, it makes it very difficult to be aware of all that's going on around you. I know I was carried, but by whom I have no knowledge.

Sanirion walked behind me. That much I knew, for his body glowed white-hot. Gradually, though, it faded, the brightness replaced by the dull, orange burning of torches. I saw a few, positioned as I was, hung in brackets along the walls of the cave. Every so often the symbol of the Dusk would sparkle on the walls, caught in the light.

There was no talk. Footsteps echoed in my sharp ears, as I was taken to a room full of beds and dumped onto the nearest one. I lay there, staring at a particularly uninteresting spot of wall, as I listened to the footsteps recede from the room.

I liked the Mythic Dusk so far. Call it a strange thing to believe when my relationship with them revolved around deceit and defeat. I had pride, yes, but I was willing to admit when I'd met my equals. If I had interpreted Neek's words correctly, I would fit right into this world of assassins.

Something touched my back. I hadn't heard anyone approach, but I felt the spell lifted. I rolled over, before letting out a snarl at the sight of the figure before me. The Khajiit cackled, her fangs sharp and pointed. "The critter does not like Ko'Vair! Why is that, she wonders?"

I kept my silence, instead glaring deep into the cat's blackened eyes. She extended her paw and scraped claws against the wall. I resisted the impulse to cringe at the sound.

"Enough, Ko'Vair. Leave the potion and get out." Neek had returned, a chair in hand.

With another look at me and a flex of her claws, Ko'Vair left.

"She's not fond of Bosmeri," Neek said, in a way of explanation. He swung the chair around and straddled it, looking at me. His tail reached above his head; it looked comical.

"The feeling's mutual. What potion?"

"A simple remedy, to ease the ache. Paralysis will leave you stiff."

"The fight was between me and you, lizard, not the Elf."

"I agree, though I cannot resent Sanirion for interfering. You move with unexpected litheness, my friend. Without Sanirion, I don't think I would've been able to defend myself in time."

I regarded the Argonian with curiosity. It took a certain type of person, or lizard, to admit to their faults, and an even greater one to concede victory to their adversary. Nor did he seemed fazed by my less than honourable attempt on his life.

"I do not begrudge you for trying," he continued, and for the second time, it was like my mind had been read. "Assassin's are trained to push. Competition is what keeps us alive."

Silence passed between us, as we weighed and measured one another. An Assassin is trained to read a person just from a glance; a prolonged regard is a gift.

"Five Year War?" Neek asked.

I nodded. "An-Xileel?" I returned in favour.

He, too, nodded. "First General."

It was often in an Assassin's best interests to be aware of the great movements and powers throughout the realms. You never knew where you might be sent, or who you might have to kill. The An-Xileel could boast being the only group to force the Daedra to close their own Oblivion gates during the Crisis. There was great power there, one that held me in awe.

"What made you leave?"

"Politics, mostly. Conquering Oblivion was a suitable goal, yet now our power is gearing up for something large. I wanted no part of it. You'll learn here, Halritch, we're all running from something. Be it memory or physical. More than that, we seek something greater for our lives. Going from acts of greatness that could change tides of war to a life of mundane reality hits hard. So, Wood Elf. Will you welcome the Mythic Dusk with open arms?"

He already knew my answer. "Call me Hal."


	4. Part Four - Sleeper Agent

We moved in unison, Neek across the street from me on a parallel rooftop. There was swiftness to our movement that only a trained assassin could achieve when sneaking across tiles. Sure and soft-footed, we didn't make a sound between us. Watching Neek's tail swing behind him as he ran was becoming a favourite past time of mine.

I paused at the edge of the roof, crouching down to reduce my visibility. A guard passed below me, his circle of light from the torch not strong enough to penetrate the darkness I hid in. They put so much faith in light, despite its flaws. Did they not realise that the dark and its shadows provided so much more opportunity? They'd find out soon enough.

Scaling on to a roof was not difficult. But traversing between them in a city so spread out like Chorrol was more difficult. Times like these I missed the Imperial City and its stout houses. You could run the entire length of a district without leaving the rooftops. The perfect place to practise the arts of stealth. Or to reinforce them, in my case.

It'd been too long since I'd engaged in nocturnal activities. There had been little need since leaving Valenwood to skulk in the dark recesses of the cities. There was no notoriety surrounding me (or, at least, there hadn't been, until I'd killed Cicero and that guard) and I had the leisure of pursuing my interests at my own pace. Even if those interests were frowned upon.

There was a certain charm to Chorrol, even I had to admit. It was a community, which may sound like a strange thing to say, but I cannot think of another word for it. The inhabitants were one big family, and I'd heard stories of the Countess being the foundation of such friendliness. It wasn't often a ruler was so loved, but the Countess most certainly was. Since her husband's death, her popularity had grown. I'm not sure what to make of that, but it's done wonders for the city. Chorrol has always been a nice city. Clean, proper, even more, civilised than other cities. But since sole rule passed to the Countess, her devotion to the Gods and their righteous authority had redoubled. Apparently, the people believed such a way was the correct way to rule. And who could blame them, after Oblivion and the destruction that ensued?

The irony was not lost on me. Our ... eclectic group of assassins, spearheaded by Neek from what I could tell, had a long history, stretching back to the Second Era. 'A feud of little consequence nowadays,' Neek had told me. 'The motives have evolved through the past eras. The Mythic Dusk were a following, a cult more accurately, dedicated to eradicating Talos and all his followings. But as Talos grew stronger, and obtained his status of God of Man and War, the aims of the cult grew slimmer. Now our path lies in a different direction. An opposite, in fact. We are sworn foes of the Mythic Dawn'.

He told me of the rest of the history, but I won't bore you with the details. If you want a history lesson, ask a scholar about Cuhlecain. They can best explain the conflict between Emperor Zero and Talos.

So here I was, aiming to main the very cult I had sought for so long. I suppose this is where I'm meant to feel conflicting emotions, sat perched here on the rooftop, surveying the darkened streets of Chorrol. This is where I should reflect on my choices, on why I am now trying to destroy the one thing I thought would bring me respite from the nightmares, from the terrors that still haunt me from Valenwood.

But the truth of the matter is it was never about the Dawn. They were a means to an end. I never accepted their beliefs, never felt a "divine" connection to Mehrunes and his destructive ways. They were just an escape, a different way of thinking, of living. Some way for me to experience a life other than that which haunted me.

Yet the Dusk offered the same, and more to go with it. It was not often I felt accepted. I was an outcast, even back in Valenwood. The only true acceptance I'd ever had was with my wife and child. But they were gone, and I found dwelling on them brought up emotions I thought I'd cleansed myself of long ago.

The Dusk, however. The Dusk I felt like I belonged. Even the three Cats that infested their ranks could not deter me from that acceptance. We were all like-minded. None of us really cared for what impression our professions gave. We were shrewd, unlikable characters. But I liked us. I liked what we could be. There was no limit to what we could do.

We had the advantage of being both deadly and unknown. The most surprising thing was that, though we were made up of the finest killers, of the most dangerous and ruthless assassins to come out of Tamriel, our cause was almost noble. No, not even almost. It was noble. Not that it mattered to me.

I sometimes wondered what the others thought, what drove them. I cared little for our end goal. It just felt good to be doing something. To know that my blade would soon find flesh it could break without repercussions. To know I could be an assassin again, brought me a feeling of elation that few things nowadays did.

A dull thud, a quiver of black line. I turned to see Neek scurrying across a tightrope, his movement perfectly in time with the guard's patrol. He joined me on the roof and together we surveyed the area.

In all honesty, I'm not sure what we expected to find, perched like this. It just seemed an appropriate thing for two assassins to do, a deadly silence held between them. It was expected for us to traverse the rooftops. It was a good way of getting a lay of the city. I'd visited Chorrol a few times, always drawn to the Great Oak near the north gate. The townspeople gathered here, to share news and gossip. It was an interesting concept, one that made my heart flutter with some feeling. I quenched it quickly.

We crouched there for what seemed an eternal amount of time. Between us, our gaze missed nothing. The hour was late, but guards patrolled in the same monotonous patterns, letting their presence be felt. An occasional drunk reveller would stumble out from either the Oak and Crosier if money was no objection, or from the Gray Mare for those not aristocratic enough to afford the cost of drink. I wasn't sure what we were looking for. According to a reliable source – or so Ko'Vair assured us – the Dawn still held a sleeper agent here in the city. How this information came into our possession, I did not know. And the Cat refused to share her secrets. I resisted the urge to spit.

Neek turned to me at this point. "Tavern?" he said.

Very few things in the world hold more gossip than a tavern does. Whether it be those looking for a free drink in exchange for a tall tale, or a desperate bid for attention, I found the best stories always originated from taverns. The Gray Mare was no exception.

It wasn't busy. In my experience, a busy tavern makes it more difficult to hear a conversation. Here, there was a fine balance of patrons and space. Neek and I found a seat without trouble. Having two of us made us less conspicuous. A single man, drinking alone, would raise questions. But two drinking together, albeit in hushed tones, was a common sight among the taverns of Tamriel.

There was an art I had perfected when I was younger. Reconnaissance is vital for any mission. I'd been put in many a situation when the best option was to listen. Not to act, but to wait, listen, gather what information was needed. To not look like you're listening is a tricky task. Of course, two people engaged in conversation are not going to draw such attention. I'd learnt, long ago, to still be able to listen to others speak around me whilst my own mind was focused on somewhere else.

I was unsure if Neek possessed such a skill. To his credit, he didn't stop our conversation, so whether he somehow knew of my abilities, or he just didn't think it was a pressing concern, he seemed to rely on the sole fact I knew what I was doing. It's strange to feel such a strong bond with a lizard I barely know. But we're similar people, Neek and I. Society frowns upon us and our practices, so instead, we keep to ourselves. It's refreshing to have someone to relate to.

Of course, our conversation was far from meaningful. We talked idly, about mundane things such as the weather, even occasionally daring to enter the realms of politics. The conversations around us swirled through my sub-conscious. Petty, pointless gossip mostly. An affair rumoured between a rich noble and a miner. The scandal.

In times like these, citizens seemed drawn to politics. Whether they had the knowledge or intelligence to discuss it or not, it did not stop any and all from voicing an opinion. This is where society was lost on me. Freedom of speech is all well and good, but to be so free with your speech to entice an argument for sake of it was beyond my comprehension.

Ludicrous ideals, and the righteousness of each speaker. The crowning of a new Emperor had everyone in a frenzy. And it was all my subconscious could pick up. Neek looked at me, and I guessed the look he gave would equate to a human raising his eyebrow. I shook my head in response.

Then I twitched. It took me a moment to locate the conversation my subconscious had picked up on. Without drawing suspicion to myself, I turned my head slowly, locating the cause. They were not speaking quietly, and I thought afterwards that they had no need to. At the time, to me, they seemed to be speaking far louder than needed or should be.

"What do you think of Eugal?" asked a man, a Breton, from what my senses told me.

"Eugal? Eugal Belette?" The Redguard woman he spoke to paused before continuing. "He's an odd one ... and I swear I heard strange noises coming from his basement not so long ago."

"Strange noises how? But I agree, he's a very odd one. I overheard him say to a traveller that he's new in town – but he's been here for almost five years!"

"There's something not natural about him, that's for sure. There's a reason he doesn't seem part of the community. He lives a very secretive life. I'm not sure any of us trust him, even after the five years."

My instincts told me this man, Eugal, was worth investigating further.


	5. Part Five - Assassination

It took me a while to win Neek over to my side. Each assassin has his own way of acting, of building up to the final act. Some prefer the brute strategy, of charging in, slaying the target, and dealing with the repercussions later. Others favour the subtle way. Replacing an apple with a poisoned one, or adding a dash of poison to a drink. I do not feel that one way is better than the other. As long as the repercussions are dealt with effectively later, then wading in, slaughtering everyone is as good a way as any if you have the skill and stomach for such work.

Poison is a more delicate art. It requires patience, reflexes, stealth. If you're caught, the game is up. At that point two options reign supreme. Finish the job with a knife, or flee, and wait with more patience for another opportunity to arise. Of course, any failed attempt is not only a dent in an assassin's record, but an unfortunate way for the target to increase their security.

Neek was in favour of invading Eugal's house, blades drawn, and see what reaction that sparked. I was in favour of gathering more information and proceeding with caution. The latter won out, once reason was made clear to Neek. I was already wanted in the Imperial City. Neek, I was sure, would have some notoriety around him. Adding to that with a force entry charge would lead us on a wild ride around the realm. Something neither of us wanted.

Perhaps I was going soft. Perhaps, after all, I'd seen and done, I was no longer fit for the daring and dangerous, preferring the more cautious approaches. Or, perhaps, I just saw more sense than Neek did. Regardless, he deferred to my judgement. The clever Lizard.

I've already mentioned my fascination with Chorrol and the Great Oak. So what better place to enquire about more rumours? Where people's mouths were looser, more willing to share with the community about all things strange and abnormal, even about the average.

Here's the thing. I talk about assassins and their talents a lot, and here's another one. Amiability is vital in gathering information. Whether it's with a joke, admiration, a boast, or coercion, they're all simple yet effective ways of charming a person. Given the right choice, and the right timing, an expert can cause an unfortunate soul to divulge all their secrets. I may suffer from a lack of emotions, but I can be quite charming when I need to be.

I approached a female Argonian, leaving Neek to skulk behind me. He may have accepted my point of view, but I don't think he liked it. I fear there may be some bloodlust left him from the Crisis. "Good morning to you," I said with a smile, locking eyes the Argonian as she turned from her previous conversation.

There was a moment's hesitation, before she smiled back. "Hello, stranger. I don't believe we've spoken before. I'm Seed-Neeus, I own the Northern Goods and Trade store here in Chorrol."

A merchant as well, perhaps luck was with me today after all. "I'm Halritch, but please, call me Hal. This is my friend, Neek."

"I extend the claw of greeting," Neek said. I could've sworn his eyes burned brighter than usual.

Seed-Neeus blushed. A strange thing to witness on a Lizard's scaly face. "greetings to you, too, Moist one. Where do you hail from?"

"Lilmoth, though a long time ago." This was more than Neek had told me, though I had guessed. Most An-Xileel are born and raised in the putrid city. Though I doubt he'd share that information with our new friend.

"So what brings you to the tree today?" I asked, before the two had a chance to further their conversation with more hidden depth. I don't understand Argonians.

Seed-Neeus blinked. It freaks me out a little the way their lids slide upwards. I had to repress a shiver. "I come here every morning before opening shop. People are more inclined to come by and buy things if I show my face here. That, and I have to keep an eye on my daughter, Dar-Ma." She gestured to an Argonian behind us, deep in conversation with an Orc.

"Well you've got my interest piqued at seeing your wares," I said, forcing a chuckle into my words. It seemed to work well. "Perhaps I'll come by later and see what's on offer. Your daughter, though, I recognise that name. She was part of the Hackdirt scandal, no?"

Seed-Neeus nodded. "The Champion saved her. A lovely woman. She comes by, every so often, to check on us. It's a relief she does. The rapids have grown swift in Chorrol."

I had to turn to Neek. I had never heard the term before and I just hoped he had. He nodded his assent and took the conversation over. "We swim against a current that is too strong. Such is life. But what troubles you at the moment, Saxhleel?"

Seed-Neeus looked around, before leaning in closer to Neek. I did the awkward thing of leaning in as well. "There are plenty of whispers around town," she said, her lips barely showing her sharp teeth. "This talk of a new emperor has the whole realm in a state of panic. If it's to be believed, a civil war seems likely."

"What of Eugal Belette? We heard he's not quite welcomed in Chorrol. Could he be an agent for a power-player?" I probed, feeling certain in my success. It is, after all, what I was trained for.

"We have our suspicions," Seed-Neeus said. "Weird noises, his refusal to join our community. We're all quite vocal about it, hoping it'll illicit a response from him or the guards or anyone. But so far there's been nothing."

Our talks turned to more mundane things after that. To dwell on such a subject is more than likely to raise unwanted attention. Best to leave things short and sweet. By now, I was confident that Eugal was worth investigating. To have it confirmed by two members of the Chorrol was enough to peak my interest.

I let Neek do most of the talking for the rest of our chat. The two got on more than I had expected from the old assassin. I say old, I honestly have no idea how old Neek might be. How do you even check on a Lizard?

Either way, the rest of the day held little interest to me. We explored Chorrol a little, but everything was the same as last time I'd visited. We walked past Eugal's house, yet couldn't hear anything from within. Perhaps it was only a certain time of day the noises occurred. We kept it inconspicuous as we scouted around his house, looking for an easy way in. There wasn't. We found a quiet place to retreat to and discussed how we'd break in, whether to have one of us create a diversion as the other picked the lock. It seemed the most sensible idea. There was no back entrance, and to smash a window would cause more commotion than necessary. There was the chapel to keep in mind as well.

I never know how I feel about the Nine Divine. Their existence cannot be disputed, yet I've never felt a connection with them. If anything, the Daedric Princes hold more allure to me their 'good' counterparts. Maybe it's the sense of mayhem that goes hand-in-hand with them, and the dark and mysterious nature of their being.

I've sometimes toyed with the idea of contacting the Dark Brotherhood. Every assassin feels a connection to Sithis, the Dread-Father, for he is the true embodiment of death, of the void that comes after death. But the Brotherhood have very ... rigid rules. The five tenants guide them, and though I wouldn't go out of my way to break them, I could imagine the breaking of them being a plausible option in my case.

We waited until nightfall, contenting ourselves with talking in hushed voices in the tavern, or walking around the streets. When it was finally late enough – just before midnight, I believe – we took our leave of the comforting warmth of the tavern and out into the chilly night air.

Neek elected to keep a look out and cause the distraction if need be. For some reason, I don't think the Argonian was a fan of picking locks. I never asked if he had the skill to. Our friendship wasn't that strong. I'm not even sure if I'd call it a friendship; mutual respect seemed more adequate. Regardless, questioning the assassin's skill would not go down well at this stage.

It felt good to have a purpose again. Those months spent searching for the Dawn had not been a real purpose. There had been no end goal. The finding of the Dawn would only have led to more questions and more searches. At least with the Mythic Dusk, they had an aim, a mission. The Dawn were a scraggly, washed-up cult of worship. They clung to life like a drowning man clings to a piece of debris. I see now that joining their ranks would've left me just as lost as they were. And now I hunted those stragglers, the devotees who refused to relinquish their grasp on the chaos they worshipped. People such as Eugal Belette.

Picking the lock was easier than I expected. It took me a couple of seconds and we were in, swiftly closing the door behind us before our attention was caught by a passing bystander or even worse, one of the Chorrol Guard. The worst part is that I almost relished the possibility of being caught again, and I'm sure Neek felt the same. An assassin never truly loses his bloodlust. He can dull it, even learn to control it, but never fully quench it. It's the curse of making a living from dancing with death.

As soon as we entered the house, we knew something was wrong. Our blades came away from their scabbards without a sound. The room was dusty, spiders and their homely cobwebs dotting the corners round the house. The main floor didn't have any furniture, with old, decaying pieces of wood scattering the floor and fireplace.

I headed upstairs whilst Neek kept searching below. It was much the same. Broken boxes, more cobwebs, and a bed. The bed looked like the only thing that was used in the whole house. I returned back downstairs to see if Neek had found anything else.

He hadn't, except for a locked door that reason dictated led to the basement. It was locked, but once again proved far too easy for my lockpicks. I debated asking Neek to remain at the top of the stairs to keep guard, but knew it wouldn't go down well, and I for sure was not going to offer to stand watch. So, together, we descended the stairs.

The further down we went, the weirder the lighter became. A pink, almost reddish glow greeted our footsteps. Now we could hear weird sounds. There was the clinking of glass – a not unordinary sound to be fair – but there was also a weird snuffling sound that I really did not like the sound of.

Once we reached the foot of the stairs, I peeked around the corner, and quickly whipped my head back around.

"Daedra," I mouthed to Neek.

I can't quite describe what happened to Neek as my words settled in. His already blazing eyes grew brighter, like they did with Seed-Neeus earlier in the day. I saw his grip tighten on his blade and knew that somehow he had just mentally prepared himself. "What Daedra?" he mouthed back to me. I think. It could easily have been "what day, da?" but that seems highly illogical given the situation.

"Xivilai," I mouthed, before trying to draw its shape with my hands. To this day I'm impressed Neek understood. Again, a mutual understanding passed between us. He would deal with the Daedra, whilst I was too silence Eugal before he tried anything. I can't say I minded. Neek had the experience from the An-Xileel of killing Daedra – I myself had never wetted my blade with their blood before. My first time could wait.

I counted three with my sword. And in unison, we rounded the corner and dashed our opponents.

Whether we triggered some sort of alarm on our way down or we were just careless, I didn't know. All that mattered was that our adversaries were waiting for us. Eugal – or who I assumed to be the man in the mask – stood there in full armour, wielding a huge hammer. It shimmered, and I knew instinctively it was magic, whether through conjuration or as a favourite weapon I didn't know. My sword had no chance of blocking that thing. I'd have to rely on quick movement and precise strikes.

I saw Neek cast a spell on himself, before he dashed forwards to meet the Xivilai. I had to admire his bravery at facing down such a beast with nothing but his blade. My opponent was a pawn in comparison to Neek's knight.

I dodged Eugal's first swing from his hammer, my blade glancing off his armour without so much as a scratch. Whatever it was made of, it was well imbued. I tried my best not to be distracted by Neek. There were some strange noises coming from the pair of them, yet Eugal kept me dancing so I had little chance to glance away.

He advanced on me, hammer swinging left and right. He was easy to dodge, but each time I struck with my blade, his armour impeded by progress. I had to get closer. I flexed my hand, watching the movement of his swing.

Time seemed to slow. I ducked, his hammer sparking against my blade as I moved forwards. As our weapons parted, I spun, planting myself behind him. It spared me a few precious seconds, enough to ready my free hand. I placed it on his back, and was rewarded with a heated palm and a satisfying hiss as I burnt a hole in his armour. Not all the way, but enough to weaken it. And apparently enough to piss him off.

He swung wildly around, and I only narrowly avoided having my head blasted off. I now had a place to strike, but Eugal was no fool, to my dismay. He backed up into the corner, levelling his warhammer across his body. An invitation. I grinned, despite myself.

Advancing slowly, I tapped my blade against the wall and received a pleasant ring in reply. This is what I lived for. The thrill of the hunt. Knowing, that even though the odds were still against me, I had a chance. A chance to win, a chance to survive. That's what kept me going. And the sudden insatiable desire for bloodshed.

I threw a dagger from my belt. It was intended as a test, but provided a good enough distraction. A moment of inspiration struck me, and I found my body moving of its own accord. Sometimes it's best to let the subliminal signals of your body guide you. You'd be surprised by what you can achieve.

A distracted opponent can be the opening one needs. Distractions are a vital tool for a sneak, whether it's to direct them away from the culprit, or to bring them towards you. I used Eugal's distraction as the dagger clanged and bounced off his helmet to leap onto the wall, using the momentum gained to smashed straight into Eugal from an angle, knees first.

The resulting impact caused me a great deal of pain. As I hit the armour, it sent a shudder all through my body and pain flared in my back. On the plus, Eugal was forced to leave his corner, stumbling, giving me the opportunity to land awkwardly on one ankle and messily drive my blade through the hole in his back.

He fell, and I fell with him, landing on his back. The armour and hammer promptly disappeared, the conjuring vanquished with his demise. I had feared he was naked under that armour, but he wore a plain quilted doublet. I could see why the rumours had never been enough to spark a reaction from the guards. He looked as dull as could be, if not for the blood pooling from his back. And onto me.

I looked up, suddenly remembering Neek. He glowed with a fiery orange, and I'm still not sure if I imagined that to this day. Still, the Xivilai's weapon – a demonic-looking claymore – lay by the stairs, far out of reach of the creature. I watched, as Neek drove his blade through its neck as it knelt before him.

And that was it. Mission successful. Except for the problem that any movement sent a spasm of pain down my back. Well, I guessed Neek would have to carry me all the way back. The poor Lizard.


	6. Part Six - Discovery

Dreams are powerful things. They contain memories, or some malformed resemblance to memories. They conjure up the faintest dregs of your past, twisting and turning them into something the mind has no choice but to perceive as a reality, as a piece of your history.

There are stories of a man in Bravil who attempted to control his dreams, to walk through a nightmare. It turned out darkly. Dreams cannot be controlled. There is a dark and mysterious magic to them, deeper and older than any incantation that still exists today. To tamper with them is to tamper with your mind itself. Only through the Champion did the man from Bravil find safety. We've all tried at some point, though, one way or another.

I recall spending a lot of my time dreaming after that unsatisfactory assassination. Even as I write these memoirs, very few resurface. Such it is with dreams that they evaporate as soon as the mind turns to them. Having said that, a few cling to the deep recesses of the brain even now, and through a forcible effort, one I feel capable of speaking about.

It is not pleasant. Nor is it factual. Strands of reality are interwoven with fiction. In some ways, I can no longer tell what is true and what is false. It has become so faint, the memory, that the dream now has the reins. It steers my beliefs, my mind dwelling on it so frequently it feels more real than the truth.

I've previously recorded I had a son. Belwas would be four now, surely up to mischief in Ebon Ro. I could never control that child. I doted on him, giving him everything his mother denied him. There was no sweeter blessing in my life than my son. He brought joy and happiness to an otherwise gloomy and demanding lifestyle in the army.

That didn't change the fact that something broke inside of me during the war. I don't dwell on it, but when I returned home, to a tearfully joyful wife and an excited child, I felt nothing. No love, no sudden rush of affection to express. That is the memory and nightmare that haunts me. My cold greeting, the brief conversation I exchanged with my wife before I walked into our house.

This is the blur, the amalgamation of reality and falsehood. I brooded, I am certain of that, but what I did during that brooding ... my mind would have me believe I was callous, cruel, and violent. I cling to the hope that that is the lie. There was a fracture in my mind, but I hold the belief I was only distant, not more. Not brutal. Not abusive, never abusive.

I may be broken, but that nightmare was enough to wake me in a cold sweat. My morals remain, even if my emotions don't, and a nightmare has a way of leaving all that you hold to be true bare in front of you.

Neek and Ko'Vair sat beside my bed. The Cat laughed, and that was enough to abate my terror. I stiffened, a dull ache pulsating from my spine. "You carried me?" I asked Neek, ignoring Ko'Vair as much as possible.

The Argonian nodded. "You're light. I suppose that's a benefit of your stature."

I sat up, refusing to show signs of weakness in front of the Cat. "Our mission was a success?"

Ko'Vair cackled once more. "Success is subjective. Attention is on us now, critter! This one made a mistake."

Neek sighed, a dark look shot in Ko'Vair's direction. There was a gleeful look to her face that made me uneasy. It was half-accusing, half-praising. The praise was what concerned me. It was not something I ever wanted from a Khajiit.

I looked to Neek for answers. He paused before answering, as though choosing his words carefully. "There were certain defences in place. Undetectable without an expert mage. Eugal knew we were coming the moment we crossed his threshold. Not only that, but he had plenty of time to inform others of our ... meddling."

"Others?" I asked, avoiding the excited gaze of Ko'Vair. "I thought there were few of the Dawn left."

"Perhaps," said Neek. He sounded weary. "An exact number is impossible. But thrice I had to hide on my way back here. It could not have been the guard – I doubt they'll discover the assassination for a good 'nother few weeks. Likely assumptions can be made in regards to who my hunters were."

We sat in silence, as Neek's words settled in. I cannot deny I felt a certain rush to know we were no longer anonymous. Skulking in the shadows is all well and good, but there was something equally glorious about full-scale war. That was the left over soldier in me thinking.

"Do we have a plan?" I asked quietly.

"Ko'Vair has a plan. Ko'Vair thinks the Lizard should listen to her." Something about the way Khajiit's spoke really irked me. They always sounded self-important, believing they were greater than other races.

"For the last time, Ko'Vair, it is not my decision to make. We must make it together. All of us." Neek turned to me. "We're going to hold a meeting – to determine what course of action to take. You will come."

I nodded. The two of them left, and I allowed myself a few extra seconds to steady myself. Magic was a wonderful thing, but it did leave aches just like any other process of healing. I doubted my back would return to normal for a good long while yet.

Shinbone Cave had become my home. I knew the torch-lit tunnels as well as any home I'd stayed in now. The layout of the cave was larger than I had first expected. Us assassins had made our homes comfortably here, with rooms set aside for sleeping, others for training, eating, even relaxing. You would think a cave would be a disgusting, damp place to live, yet on the contrary, Shinbone was an almost perfect living arrangement. Minus the sunlight and fresh air, but those things I could live without for small durations.

Our meeting was to be held in the eating quarters. I couldn't think of a name for the place other than that. Dining room made it sound too formal, whilst kitchen was far from right. Either way, as I passed through the cave's mouth into the room, I saw Neek kicking out some of the recruits to give us the room.

Our eclectic group could not thrive on existing with just the four of us. We had recruits, novices, all those vying to make a way in the world through the art of murder. There was little money in it for them, but that did not stop the young from pursuing fierce desires.

I was not sure where our funding came from. We were an elusive group, and therefore never accepted contracts. We struck out at targets designated by ourselves. We cut out the middleman. It was a good system, but it left the question of coin. Pilfering our targets was all well and good, but the yield was never enough to cover all our bases. It was one of those mysteries that my mind could not help but dwell on, little matter that it made to me, though.

The other three assassins were already there when I arrived. Neek and Ko'Vair took seats opposite each other, whilst Sanirion played with an apple, already reclined in his chair. When I say playing with an apple, I mean his fingers twitched underneath it, the fruit hovering above them, turning this way and that at the smallest gesture from his hand. As I took a seat next to him, he flicked his wrist and sent the apple sailing into the sky. One finger swiped in its direction and the apple fell, cleaved perfectly in two. He offered me one-half.

I took it, appraising the wizard as I did. We'd spent little time together, yet I liked to believe a mutual respect existed between us. I certainly respected him. Telekinesis was a masterwork of Magicka, and to turn it into an offensive weapon was cause for both admiration and wariness.

"So what are our op—"

"Not yet," Neek said, interrupting me. "We're waiting for another."

I was shocked, though refused to show it. We were the only four master assassins I was aware of in this cult. Watching Ko'Vair and Sanirion tense at Neek's words did little to inspire confidence in me.

"He comes?" Ko'Vair hissed, and I had the satisfaction of watching the fur on her face stand on end. "Ko'Vair prefers it when the prey stays below."

"Yes, he comes," Neek replied, and I rejoiced in hearing the sound of irritation in his voice, directed at the Cat. "A decision cannot be made without him. Be glad you do not deal with him on a regular basis."

"And why, pray tell, my tailed friends, should she be glad of that?"

I remember those words now as clearly as though they had just been spoken. They sent ice through my body, a reaction to the threat that lurked underneath the velvet voice. There was more to it than fear. There was something else there. It had a seductive embrace to it, and I knew, by looking at my fellow assassins, that they too felt its allure.

He stepped from the shadows, though I felt it made little difference. His whole body was wrapped in shadow. The torchlight dared not touch him, a veil of blackness dancing around his pale face. I knew, instinctively what he was. A vampire.

He sensed my fear. Whether he smelt it or felt it radiating it from me, I don't know. But his gaze snapped to mine, and I was ensnared. "Ah, another Elf. Tell me, Tree Elf, your name."

"Hal—ritch." The words came out against my will. It had been a command, not a question.

"Neek regards your skills highly," the vampire said, breaking eye contact. My head lulled forwards and I blinked rapidly, the spell broken. I avoided his eyes after that. "Perhaps a truer test must be held." Ko'Vair giggled, only to be silenced by a look from the vampire. "Come, Halritch," he said, and from his shadow, a blade as black as Nocturnal's Blessing slid forth and into his hand. "Let us waltz to the Dance of Death."


	7. Part Seven - Test

He flew at me, faster than anything natural should be able to. I had to remind myself that he was not natural. He was the offspring of malice – a creature of the night. There was little I could do except let me chair fall backwards. Even so, I felt his blade slice inches from where my neck had been. This was no game; the vampire meant to truly test me.

I scrambled from the floor, grateful for the break the vampire gave me. It was tough avoiding his eyes. There was an allure to their burning redness, one I expect that had ensnared countless prey. I drew my short. For the first time in a long time, I felt naked, like a child facing an angry wolf. I was outmatched and I knew it.

My blade looked like a butter-knife in comparison to the vampire's sword. Even looking at that made me feel dizzy. Was there nowhere I could look safely? Fortunately, I didn't have time to think about it. The vampire flew at me again, imaginary black wings of death sprouting in my mind.

Our blades met, and I knew straight away my strength was lacking in comparison. The black blade pushed against mine and I felt my arms straining already. An unnatural heat radiated from his blade and in the corner of my mind I expected my sword to melt where it was. I'd have to be smart about this. I couldn't rely on strength; agility and surprise would be my best weapons.

I fell to one knee, easing up on defence slightly. The black blade drew ever nearer to my face. My hand slipped into my boot and drew out the hunting knife I hid there. With a swipe, I gutted the vampire where he stood.

Except the blade passed through him like smoke.

"A Mirage, Wood Elf." The voice came from behind me and I instinctively rolled away, through the smoke of where the vampire had been. I heard rather than saw his blade slice where I had been.

Turning, I saw him stalking towards me. "A clever trick, letting your guard down. But what else do you have? A trick like that won't work again." He was right, and I knew it. The worst part was that he knew I knew it, too. I had no other tricks to save me. He had seen through my ploy and used his own dark magic to thwart it.

I was suddenly envious of his ability. I almost understood the concept of the Mirage. It was akin to teleportation, leaving behind a trail of where you once had been to trick an opponent into striking, whilst you could move unhindered and outflank the unwitting prey.

That's what I was here. Prey. He was toying with me. A quick glance at the table showed me none of the others had moved. Ko'Vair wasn't even smiling anymore. A surprise, considering my impression was that she wanted me dead.

Death was like a whisper, a chilling, haunting forewarning that there was no escape. My brief lapse in concentration gave the vampire time to close the gap between us. I brought my sword up; the tip of his sword pierced into it. A ripple of fiery pain laced down the metal and into my hand. The blade shattered, tiny fragments of metal my only defence. A distraction I took advantage of by dodging further back from the vampire.

But he kept on coming, pressing the attack, forcing me to dodge and duck, to manoeuvre out of the way of his swings. The hunting knife felt useless in my hand – a tool that I clung to for dear life, despite the ever looming presence of death incarnate in front of me.

Looking back on this moment, I struggle to comprehend how I stayed alive as long as I did. Long minutes passed of mere dodging, his black blade seemingly unable to strike me. Perhaps it was my reflexes, or perhaps it was Old Lady Luck shining on me one last time, but a sense of control washed over me.

I was in no position to win. The fact that I would die seemed inevitable now. The small victory I could obtain for myself lay in making the task as difficult as possible for my diseased friend.

In the back of my mind, something didn't add up. Why were the others sat so silently, not a word of protest bidden, watching as our duel inexorably moved towards my fate? Did fear hold them in some twisted force of enrapturing? There was a certain hunger in their eyes that I'd notice in my brief glance. The illusion of a home, of sanctity in our ranks, fell away before me. Perhaps this is what I was to the Dusk – a sacrifice made to their leader, to appease him, to let them toil towards whatever end they wanted.

Thoughts swirled through my head, clouding my judgement. My steps became infinitesimally slower; enough for the vampire to press home the advantage.

I'd be damned to let it finish like this, though. Not without one more bid for freedom. If I could at least injure the demon, then I would count that as a victory. I had to choose my moment. A misstep and my singular attack would be for nothing. It all verged on this moment, this defining moment in my career. I placed all my remaining strength into a single motion; a fluttering of a feint. Once again the element of surprise worked in my favour.

The pressure I'd been under left little room for a counter. Only one trained for the nimble arts could pick a window of opportunity and follow it through. The feint caught the vampire off guard, a slight hesitation in the arc of his swing. It was simple enough to avoid, less simple to manoeuvre myself into a position to strike. I was wary of another Mirage, but that didn't stop me. If I were to lose, I would rather it to be via his trickery than his skill.

My blade, the small hunting knife only used in tight situations, came so close to reaching the vampire. Inches away, it hit something solid, and to this day I don't know what. A second blade, perhaps? I never saw it if so.

Stillness settled over us for the briefest of moments. "Commendable attempt," he said. "But futile."

I don't remember the pain as his blade struck my shoulder, cutting through the leather like it was cloth.

I do remember the eruption of pain a few seconds later. I staggered, and through the torment that ravaged my body, I dimly remember being surprised that the vampire did not finish me there and then. My defences were down – the engulfing agony too much to bear. Liquid fire seemed to seep into my bloodstream, traversing down into my chest. When it hit my legs, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor.

It must have been a funny sight. Me, writing and squirming on the floor as spasms wracked my body. I was blind to everything around me, not even conscious of the advancing figure on me until he spoke.

"I can take the pain away."

I didn't respond, my eyes screwed shut in a vain attempt to fight the pain. To this day I have never experienced something as painful. I've been poisoned, tortured, even mutilated later in life. None of it was anything close to what I felt that day.

"I can end it."

The words seared through me, slicing through the convulsions before they overtook my body once more. Did he mean death, or a cure? At this point, there was little I wouldn't do to escape the agony.

I attempted to speak, only to have the words slaughtered into a garble of nonsense. The vampire, however, seemed to understand. The red eyes bore into me and though I still had whatever foul venom his sword contained burning through me, my body stilled. Not paralysed, but calmed.

The last thing I remember before consciousness slipped from me was the hulking figure of the vampire leaning over me, as two pinpricks of pain blossomed on my neck.


	8. Part Eight - Blood

Insatiable. That is the word I would use to describe the hunger.

I have survived addictions before. It may seem strange to others, but a peculiar Bosmeri habit of smoking insects and grubs can lead to a just as resolute an addiction as consuming skooma can. The Green Pact forbids any consumption of vegetation – tobacco included. Adaptations had to be made, for better or for worse. No Bosmeri can comment on the effects of tobacco opposed to grubs, yet we imagine it to be similar.

That addiction was easy to kick. I broke my smoke-pipe during the War, and my addiction killed itself. I never picked it up again. It's funny how we develop these aversions to habits when the world falls down around us.

This addiction though, this longing, would not be possible to rid myself of that easily. As I said, it was an insatiable hunger, driving me to contemplate a deed that I never thought I would even consider. But the longer I waited, the longer I wallowed in my self-pity, the more intense the craving grew.

Strange powers waxed and waned. At times my dark abode would brighten, every inch suddenly visible in crystal sharpness. Then it would fade, and I'd huddle in a corner in suffering. I knew what was happening to me; it did not mean I had to accept it.

The vampire had known this would happen. That was why I was kept alone, far removed from the cave I now called home. Only Neek would visit occasionally, bring sustenance more out of habit. The taste, the flavour of food, was gone. Fruit turned to ash in my mouth; meat was nothing more than a chewy and stringy hindrance. Every time I would try eat, to retain some morsel of my humanity, yet would swiftly give up. All the while, Neek would watch me.

Neek. The one person I would count as friend in this lonesome world. To be an assassin is to be alone. Those words had haunted me for many long years, made worse by the fact that I was the one who had said them. Leaving your family is never an easy task. The morally conscious part of me believes I left to save them, to protect them. Now I'm not so sure that is true.

"How long, Neek?" I asked. My voice was cracked. I was parched. He knew it, I knew it. We both knew what I needed, but neither of us wished to broach the subject.

"A decade." I wasn't even shocked by his answer. A decade seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of Vampirism.

"In Chorrol, with Seed-Neeus. You wanted her, didn't you?"

Neek merely nodded. I had seen it. A brief brightening of his eyes, a dangerous flash of lust. Now it all made sense. Even during the fight, when Neek faced down the Xivilai, there had been signs. He had glowed. No mortal could have dispatched an Xivilai that quickly, that easily. Only through immortality could a victory be achieved so.

"And the others?"

Neek nodded again. "All of them. Sanirion is the newest."

"Why, Neek?" I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice. "Why let yourselves be turned into monsters?"

"We're assassins, Hal." His words were sharp, yet there was understanding in his face. "We have no morality to stand by. We kill when ordered, we butcher and slaughter. That is what we live for, what we were trained for. Having tainted blood makes no difference to what we are. If it's the feedings that you're worried about—"

"It's not," I said. I was struggling to justify my own reasons at this point. "Yes, we're assassins, yes, we live and thrive in the darkness. But this is different. We are the darkness now, don't you see that? Oblivion take us, a decade of this, Neek? How do you live with yourself, knowing what you are, what you've become?"

Neek sighed, raspy breath filling the room. "I tried to kill myself when I was first turned. I felt the same as you. 'I'm a monster', 'the world is a better place without me'. I had all these thoughts. It dawns on you that being what we are is not what makes us evil. It's what we do with the power that defines us. I have dedicated my life to the Dusk for ten years. Ten years of purpose, of hunting. Have I once killed for blood? No. Have I killed because our cause calls for it? Countless times.

"If you truly believe that we are evil for the way we are, then an assassin's life is not for you. Killing is killing. All our lives we have justified our slaughter because we do it for a purpose. Why does being a vampire make any difference?"

He walked away at that point, and I was left to contemplate, to consider. Not that there was much to think about. Neek's words had been so simple, yet so effective. What was the difference? Bloodlust came in many different forms. I had succumbed to the passion before, slaughtering without a second thought, only after looking at the carnage I had reaped. Why was this bloodlust any difference? Through control, there was no need to view myself as a monster. A monster was defined by his deeds, not his persona. Some would view my past self as a monster. An assassins line of work was hardly innocent. Why should I care what people think now?

I stood, my weak body protesting, but I fought through the weakness. I addressed the empty room at large. "I'm ready."

A shadow moved. Amber eyes glowed, fixing on me. His gaze no longer held power over me – a sign I was well on my way to joining his kind. "Are you ready to taste blood, to feed on mortals, for the first time?"

Did he have to phrase it like that? "Yes," was my simple answer.

It was a matter of finding the right target. We – or rather, the vampire – decided on a target that I would have no qualms with killing: bandits. Easy prey, and I would feel no guilt with their deaths, even if it involved feeding on their blood.

That thought still made me feel uneasy. Food had lost its appeal to me, and yet my lust for blood was almost overwhelming? I was still disgusted by what I was becoming, yet there was no use fighting it.

There was a fort just across the Upper Niben, maybe a few hours ride from Shinbone Cave where we were. Fort Alessia, I believe it was called. I had never been, though Ko'Vair said she had.

"Bandits are always there," she told me as we rode. "Always come back, no matter how many times Ko'Vair kills them. Make for easy prey, much like you."

Why was the Cat chosen to travel with me? It was just the two of us, as well as the vampire. He did not ride with us. He moved through the shadows, the immortal predator stalking his litter. Every so often I would catch his movement in the corner of my eye and shiver. "Who is he?" I asked Ko'Vair. The question spoke volumes of my intrigue and fear of the vampire. I did not often question, least of all to companions I didn't trust.

"Ko'Vair knows not." Even the Khajiit's words were quiet. Fear infected us all, it seemed. "Ko'Vair only knows he is old, very old. Second Era old, this one suspects. Ko'Vair heard him slip, once. Called Tiber Septim General, not Emperor or God. But we shall speak no more of this."

The ascent of Tiber Septim to Emperor marked the beginning of the Third Era, that fact was known to even the most unlearned person. It was now the Fourth Era, the Oblivion Crisis the turning point. That meant the vampire was four hundred and thirty-three years old, at least. More if he knew Talos as a General before his ascension. Part of me was now more accepting of the ease at which he had defeated me in battle. 'The best techniques are passed on by the survivors.' I feel I don't need to explain the significance of this quote. Five hundred years is more than enough to perfect any art, multiple, if the heart so desires.

It was not a long journey to the Fort Alessia. As we neared, we took refuge behind a rock, surveying the area. A sharp, chilly turn in the air marked the vampire coming to join us. "The bandit leader is yours, Elf," he (or it – it feels more appropriate to me, despite that I was becoming an 'it', too) said. "To feed and to drain. The rest are fair game for us all. Let the hunt begin!" With that, he was gone.

I made to move to follow, but Ko'Vair grabbed my arm. "Wait," she hissed. "Wait and watch."

I turned my attention to the fort, begrudging that the Cat had told me what to do. Three bandits patrolled the exterior. Or at least what they thought was patrolling. I could see why Ko'Vair counted them as easy prey. They lounged, more intent on their conversations than keeping watch of their surroundings. Not that it would've made any difference as the vampire descended.

The third bandit, the one who carried a bow and seemed more dedicated to his guard post, didn't make a sound as a black shape flew and enveloped him. His neck was ripped open. Even from a distance, I could see the blood squirt. The sight made me shiver in both fear and exhilaration. The other two bandits were dispatched quickly.

The vampire flitted behind one of them, before twisting his neck, not even bothering to use a weapon. The last remaining bandit could only stagger back, before his gaze was caught by the vampire. The fight left him – a hollow shell lingered, swaying on the spot.

Stupidity seized me, born from a desire to infuriate the vampire as much as possible, no doubt. My throwing knife found its target – the bandit's chest – before the vampire could finish toying with his prey.

Red eyes flashed in my direction, but there was no other repercussion. I had thought as much. The Cat did not share my feelings.

"This one is a fool!" she all but spat at me. "Even cubs no not to take prey that is not theirs."

I shrugged, though inside I was shaking. "This would be a pointless trip if he was to kill me now."

"Ko'Vair wishes this one would shut up." I let her lead on.

Inside the fort, we split up. I headed left, away from the vampire who headed right. Even in my weakened state, the bandits didn't stand a chance. It had been too long since I had revelled in bloodshed. Though there was more to it this time. The usual bloodlust that my blade could satisfy wasn't enough. I felt the insatiable hunger rise in me with each kill, with each stroke of my blades that drew blood. The fear in the bandits grew the further into the fort I penetrated. I can only imagine why.

I'm not even aware of how many I slaughtered. Nor do I know where Ko'Vair or the vampire went. All I know is that they were toying with the bandit leader when I arrived. To his credit, he didn't show fear as Ko'Vair darted to and fro, swiping without any real intention of injury. The vampire, I noticed, lurked in the shadows.

When Ko'Vair saw me, she retreated, leading the bandit leader's anger towards me. He came at me, all anger and rage, no concern for the position he was in. My blades caught his claymore, and with that, I disarmed him.

"Look him in the eyes." The vampire was right behind me, his breath like a whisper that I was compelled to follow.

As soon as my eyes locked with the bandit leader's, with purpose, his body went slack. The anger seeped from him and, much like the bandit outside, left him empty.

"Feed, Elf. He is yours now."

I'd like to pretend my morality one out. That I refused over and over, no matter how much the vampire insisted. That I slew the vampire where he was and made my escape, sparing Ko'Vair out of the goodness of my heart.

In truth, I leapt at the chance to feed. My new fangs sank into the soft flesh of his neck and I drank deeply. There are few things in life I remember tasting finer. I drank him until his body ran cold. Then, I slashed his throat with my fingers, a growl escaping my lips.

I stood in ecstasy for a long, unknown period of time, the blood spilling from my aching lips. It was succulent. All weariness, all weakness I had felt fled me as the bandit's blood filled my body.

"Someone comes." I turned at the vampire's voice. There was something close to fear in its immortal voice.

I heard nothing. That was what scared me the most. Few people could hide from me.

"Come out," the vampire commanded. Even I heard the power in his voice – leaving all powerless to obey.

There was silence. None of us moved, not a muscle. Then a voice broke through the void.

"I've hunted you for long years, Clarafus." A figure emerged from around the corner, still hiding in shadow. The figure drew her sword. I could feel the power emanating from the black blade. It sucked at my soul, leeching life without even drawing near. "It seems I've finally found you," she said, stepping into the light.

There was no mistaking the armour. Emperor's armour, the finest work a smith could ever manage. Imperial Dragon Armour.

We were facing the Champion of Cyrodiil.


	9. Part Nine - The Champion

"Clarafus?"

Of all the things Ko'Vair could've said at that point, that was the word the Cat chose to utter in mockery. If not for the bandit's blood coursing through me, I'm sure I would've found some humour in the strange, archaic name. As it was, fear and adrenaline combined to create something quite unique, tenfold stronger than what I'd experienced before.

"The past was bound to catch up with me eventually," came the vampire's voice. His own blade materialised in his hand for the first time that evening. My head throbbed from the combined energies of the two swords. "How did you find me?"

"Luck and tracking," came the even answer. "I owe you a debt of pain – a life of misery."

"You should thank me," said Clarafus, circling. "I set you on your path to greatness."

"By throwing me in a cell. By framing me for a crime I never committed. That _you_ committed."

"I regret it now. You've grown too powerful. I knew your vengeance would come one day; I just hoped my own quest would be finished first."

"Too bad."

The Champion darted forwards, her speed and fluidity impossible to follow. Clarafus met her blade with his. There was no clash, no clang of steel on steel like any normal swords. All I heard was the throbbing from my head, from the power the two dark swords secreted.

"Let us go," Ko'Vair whispered. I took a small manner of satisfaction in hearing the fear in her harsh voice. "We are nothing more than prey."

I couldn't help but agree. The vampire and the Champion exchanged blows, and even my trained eye wasn't quick enough to catch them all. Ko'Vair tugged at me and I obediently followed, our footsteps light and fast.

"I'm coming for you next, spawn of Clarafus!" To this day, those words haunt me. Thrown out during a battle of fierce intensity without even the slightest waver in her words.

We headed straight back to our hideout. In hindsight, it wasn't our smartest decision. Then again, if the Champion was able to track an ancient vampire, what could us mortals do against such reckless hate? Not that any of us were mortal any longer. The taste of blood on my lips was proof of that.

I felt powerful. Powerful enough to take anything on. Save the Champion, of course. Any man or woman, mortal or immortal, who believed themselves capable of fighting the legend themselves was delusional. I knew my limits, even in my empowered state of being and mind. But still I was empowered, undead and limitless in my thirst.

The bandit's blood lingered in my mouth, sweet upon my lips, succulent upon my tongue. The sensation was shuddering through me. Only gradually did it fade from pleasure to a dull ache. Not yet all-consuming, but I knew that time would come. I only hoped I had time to prepare before the hunger swept me into its jaws again.

"Where is the vampire?" So not even Neek knew his name. He gestured at my mouth.

"Fighting," I answered, wiping the drying blood from my lip. "Against the Champion."

"The Champion?" it came out as a hiss. Neek's whole Argonian body tensed, amber eyes darting behind us to the entrance. "And you came straight back here?!"

"Where else could Ko'Vair go?" the Cat hissed back. I restrained my psychotic desire to laugh. It was as though my two fellow assassins had regressed to their base animal instincts of hissing and spitting at one another.

"She will follow you and find _us_." Neek's voice was a flat whisper. "I know little of our leader, but the much I know is that there is history between him and the Champion. Enough to fuel hatred to him and all his kind. What do you think she'll do when she finds a den of his vampire spawn? We must get Sanirion."

Ko'Vair and I followed Neek further into the bowels of our home, caught in a perpetual motion of not quite running yet moving as fast as we could to keep up with our lizard friend. We searched for a while before we found the High Elf. Our common area was empty, save for some of the younger recruits. Their gaze lingered on our hurried searching, intrigue etched upon them. Ko'Vair hissed at one as we passed back and he jumped, handing moving for his weapon before sense hit him.

We eventually found Sanirion in the baths. When we say baths, we mean a jet of water, artfully cut into the rock to just connect with the water of the Upper Niben.

"You skins have odd bodies," Ko'Vair said with a frown, looking Sanirion up and down. "So smooth." Sanirion at least had the modesty to look embarrassed. With a wave of his hand, pale blue robes materialised around him. His hair, for the first time I had seen him loose around his neck and wet, was pulled up into a high knot, a warm glow from his working hands enough to dry it out.

"Might I enquire why I have been interrupted?" he asked. The annoyance was plain in his voice, scowling eyes shooting daggers at Ko'Vair. She still held the same frown on her face, staring at Sanirion's midriff.

"The Champion comes for us."

The High Elf's scowl vanished. "She does? Why?"

"It seems she finally caught up to the Vampire. We need you now, Sanirion. You may be the only one who can hide us from her."

Sanirion swallowed. I don't think I'd ever seen him scared before. He nodded, gesturing us to follow him. "Meet me in the common area. Gather all those who you can find."

It was a mad panic for the next ten minutes. Sanirion went running off to the entrance, intent on doing what I did not know. As far as I was aware, if the Champion was able to track Clarafus, we stood little chance of avoiding detection. Neek seemed to put faith in Sanirion's abilities though, and I had learned to trust Neek. It was the most I could hope for.

We rounded up the initiates and novices and all but horded them into the one room. There weren't many of us – fifteen in total – yet it made the room feel crowded. I don't think we had all ever been in the same room together. There were some faces amongst the newest recruits that I didn't even recognise.

There was a general murmur of conversation, of indirect questions that the initiates expected answers to. None of us deigned to give them what they sought. They would find out soon enough. Even Ko'Vair was scared, though she tried to hide it. She slouched against the cave wall, arms folded across her chest. Looking every part as nonchalant as she could. But I knew better. To my trained eye, there were giveaways. Reacting too quickly to trivial movements, the nervous tick of her claws upon her forearm. She was just as bit scared as the rest were. More so, perhaps. We had both witnessed a duel of intensity none of us could match. I was certainly terrified, now the bloodlust had left my body.

Five more minutes, long minutes of Neek pacing back and forth, looking up expectedly every couple of seconds. Five minutes of murmured questions and doubt of our leadership. Even glaring at the more vocal initiates became a tiresome task after the first few times. I took on Ko'Vair's tack of just ignoring any questions directed my way.

There was a sound from further in the cave. We should not have been able to hear it, yet it drew the attention of every body in the common room. Neek drew his blade, I drew mine too. The click of Ko'Vair readying her claws echoed throughout. A few recruits ready their own weapons, with much hesitation.

Sanirion appeared. We breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing the grip on our weapons.

"It is done?" Neek asked.

Sanirion nodded in return. He looked weary, beads of sweat damp upon his forehead. "We are hidden. The cave to any outside is non-existent."

"You've done well, Sanirion. Sit, eat." Neek turned to me and Ko'Vair. "We're safe for now. Sanirion's mana can hold that spell in check for a day at least. At that point she should've moved on. Still, it might be worthwhile to think about relocating, just in case."

"A clever trick." The voice rang out from behind us. To our shame, we all jumped. Assassins caught by surprise. Ironic. "It would have worked perfectly. If I had not already been inside."

I almost repressed a groan. With a flash of purple-red light, the Champion appeared behind us all.

There were gasps from all. None sounded scared, for why would they fear the Champion of Cyrodiil? They did not know our secret; they did not know how far into the darkness we had fallen.

"Move!" the initiates parted in almost perfect symmetry. Sanirion came flying down, hand already raised, a crackling ball of lightning growing within it. He let it loose towards the Champion, the sound of thunder shaking the cave all around us.

It struck her, and we all watched in fascination as the amulet around her neck glowed violet. Essence of a kind glowed around her for a second. Then she smiled.

Her own fireball blasted from her outstretched hand, lacing its way across the room. It struck Sanirion unprepared, unprotected. He glowed a brief white before the fireball sent him flying, knocking down several initiates as he went. There was a sickening crunch as he connected with the stone wall and did not move. It was a miracle he wasn't burned. Still, his sleeve had caught fire, and he was only saved from being set alight as a quick-witted initiate threw some water to douse it.

"Enough." Neek stepped forwards. The crowd seemed to shrink away from him, leaving a clear space for him to advance on the Champion. His sword was held lightly in his hand, poised for a sudden strike. "That is one you harbour hatred for struck down. I am another; these two you have met." He nodded towards me and Ko'Vair. "The rest of them are innocent. Let them go."

"Only four are the Spawn of Clarafus?" The Champion surveyed the room, all but her eyes hidden underneath the Imperial Dragon helm. "Very well. They may go."

"Make for Fort Alessia!" Neek shouted over the shuffled movement of the initiates. "We will find you, afterwards."

"Hasten, cubs!" Ko'Vair said, all but chasing them out.

"You think there will be an afterwards?" the Champion said, looking between each of us. "This is your tomb, spawns."

"Is he dead?" I asked. I found courage somewhere and drew myself to my fullest height. I still stood shorter than both Neek and Ko'Vair, but I felt emboldened. "Did you kill Clarafus?"

"That vampire's death has been a long time coming," the Champion said, "Y'ffre's Bones, did you expect me to let him go free after all he made me suffer through?!"

"You're a Bosmer." I was shocked. For some reason, the race of the Champion had never seemed of importance to me. She was just the Champion, the Hero of Kvatch. Never the Bosmeri Champion. I felt a sudden swell of pride before I remembered the situation we were in.

"Astute of you, cousin. Do not ask where I'm from. Clarafus drove all that from my unsuspecting mind. Don't try it," the Champion snarled at Ko'Vair. The Cat had been slowly inching forwards, getting ready to take a swipe. "Do not think your skills match my own."

"Why are you here?" Neek said. His voice sounded calm, something I did not feel.

The Champion laughed. "Does it really need to be said? You are the spawn of my enemy. His thralls, his pets. You are free of him now yet each of you hold a part of him inside of you. That cannot be allowed." She drew her blade, and that same leeching pull took hold of me. "Umbra shall claim your souls now."

"Do not underestimate us," Neek said, raising his own blade. "Each of us is a master assassin in our own right. There is little chance of you leaving here unscathed."

"True, with the four of you I might have struggled for victory." The Champion shrugged." But your wizard lies in a heap. Three is a much more favourable number. Come, show me what you know, master assassins," she all but sneered.

I think back on this moment and wonder why it was never written into song. There the Champion of Cyrodiil, the Master of the Fighter's Guild, rumoured to be the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Standing proud and mighty, blackened sword in hand, adorned in gilded shield and armour fit for an emperor and no other. There was no fear in her eyes, in the way her body moved.

Facing her, three master assassins. Three assassins of reputable notoriety. Me, Halritch, survivor of the Five Year War, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Khajiit. Witness of the Wild Hunt. My blade felt delicate in my hand – a thin and strong piece of metal, easily enough to pierce the weak points in any armour, no matter how well made.

Neek, the Argonian. A trained killer, member of the An-Xileel. A Daedra hunter. His tale alone would spark fear in any lesser warrior. The Planes of Oblivion feared him and his blades. He held two now, one long and broad, the other short and sharp. A whirlwind of pain and death to any who stood in his path.

And finally Ko'Vair, the Khajiit. Say what you will of the Cats, this one was deadly. I only learned her history later on in our time together, once friendship had formed. A former Clan Mother, exiled for work deemed unfit for a leader. Her claws carry more blood than my blades. Betrayed she slaughtered her clan, not once feeling any remorse. She became a freelance assassin, her trademark poisoned claws. The Poison Claw, she was known as in Elsweyr. Feared throughout its sand. After this fight, I could see why.

She was the first to make a move. A flurry of movement, claws and hissing as she struck out at the Champion. It would never say she had the advantage, but she sure did give the Champion pause for thought. Ko'Vair dodged Umbra as it swung left and right – quick, precise strikes, intent on ending a fight, not delaying it. Neek and I rushed in, just in time.

My blade blocked the blackened blade from biting into Ko'Vair's outstretched paw. Ice travelled up my arm from the impact yet I did not have time to think about it. We attacked in unison, for the first time our assassin instincts working together to overcome a greater foe. We swirled, danced, lunged and thrusted around the room. The Champion blocked each and all with ease. Her blows sent her off balance, and without the three of us working together, we would have been dead after the first strike.

We broke apart. The three of us panted, drenched in sweat, weariness already stealing over our bodies. The Champion rolled her shoulders, showing no sign of tiring. "You do fight well," she raised Umbra and pointed it at Neek. "You have experience fighting Daedra. I see that in the way you dance. But it matters not. You are not my equal."

I was angered. Her arrogance struck a dark chord with me that I could not truly control. Only later was I told that it was the work of Umbra, the blackened blade. It secreted the malice of Clavicus Vile, weakening of the mind's who fought against it. I was so filled with reckless hate that the Champion laughed at me. "Slay me, if you can! I welcome the attempt."

"Greetings to the Dusk!" The call came floating through the cave, halting me in my steps towards a charge. All four of us turned towards the entrance. Sanirion still lay unconscious upon the floor. "It seems your attempt at hiding from us has failed.

"We have your initiates," the voice continued, echoing around us. It seemed to be drawing closer. "The few left alive shall not be for long unless their masters give themselves up." A figure stepped into the common room. A brute of a Nord, he towered over all of us, an egotistical grin spread across his ugly face. Vermilion robes flowed around him as he raised his arms wide in greeting. A rising sun was emblazoned on the front.

"The Mythic Dawn." The Champion's voice shook with fury. The pressure from Umbra grew; my brain felt as though it was about to melt. I struggled on through squinting eyes and witnessed the Nord's fall from grace.

The cocky smile vanished. Instant terror spread instead, his hands falling to his side. He turned tail and fled, casting a spell of invisibility as he went. "Dagon's Flame protect us. It's the Champion of Cyrodiil. Scatter, my disciples, scatter!"

There was no question about it. The Champion of Cyrodiil ran after him and we followed, dutifully performing the task that the Dusk was created to do.

The slaughter of the Mythic Dawn.


	10. Part Nine - Common Ground

The hunt was exhilarating. To know we had just gone from prey to predator added to the rush. They fled from us like deer in the Heartlands. Or, more accurately, they fled from the Champion of Cyrodiil. Having seen the things she could do, I did not blame them.

It is one thing to hear about people's exploits; it's another to witness them for yourselves. The vampire – Clarafus, if I have to call him that archaic name – was an astounding opponent. He exerted a kind of pressure that made your defence seem feeble, your weapons useless.

Now the Champion. The Champion defeated the vampire. That I had no doubt of. I knew little about him, but I do not think he would've allowed the Champion to invade our hideout if he still drew breath. Not that he _did_ still draw breath, being undead and all. The point still stands that the Champion defeated him. Overpowered the over-powered, so to speak. So what did that make the Champion? Far beyond an astounding opponent. As I said: the hunt was exhilarating.

The big Nord was the first to die. Invisibility was all well and good from a distance, but it could not hold up to mastered Chameleon. There was a distinct shimmer to the first that even an untrained eye could spot. My eye was not untrained. Nor was the Champion's. She was also a lot quicker than the Nord.

Umbra passed straight through his heart from behind, shattering the feeble attempt at Invisibility as it went. The Champion didn't slow, not for a second. She span as she ran, pulling her sword free, sending the big Nord whirling to the ground behind her. It was mesmerising to watch.

A few of the braver members of the Dawn had entered our hideout deep within the cave. Three to be exact. One was felled by the Champion, another by Neek, the flick of his sword slicing through the weak point in his armour. The last fell down screaming and writhing, Ko'Vair's claws having left long gouges across his face. I slowed my pursuit just long enough to watch the skin bubble as the poison took effect, before I sped through into the heart of Shinbone Cave.

Whether it was my newly awakened senses or something else that alerted me to the danger, I do not know still to this day. "Champion," I hissed, just loud enough for her to hear me and pause. The others followed suit.

"What do you want?" she advanced on me, and though I could sense she no longer wished us all dead, there was still a good deal of aggression aimed my way.

"They'll have hostages," I said. "Young ones, untainted by the Vampire." I did not need to say that stealth would be a more viable option. I could see she understood. "You three get into position. I'll give the signal when to act. You'll know what it is."

Ko'Vair and Neek nodded instantly, moving off into the shadows. The Champion stood staring at me a while longer. I couldn't guess what thoughts were going through her head but I stood my ground. Eventually, she turned and stalked off, vanishing with a muffled flash of purple.

There are many tools an assassin can utilise on its prey. The preferred method, for me in particular, was my shortswords. Longer than a dagger, yet quicker than a Longsword, I always found they worked perfectly in my hands.

But sometimes up close and personal did not fit the given circumstance. That's when range attacks became a highly useful skill. I had always preferred the feel of steel in my hands. I placed a lot of trust in my swords.

Bows I did not like. They were clunky to carry, and what's more there were too many variables that could go wrong in a shot. Your aim could be perfect, true, travelling on a direct course to pierce either brain or heart. But personal experience had left me with a bitter hatred for the luck involved in such a shot. The worst had been an opponent sneezing. Something so simple, so innocent, and their life had been spared. For a few seconds at least. Now I only used bows when I felt it necessary. I had no doubt I could sneak up on the Dawn, draw blood with my swords. But with hostages, there was more of a risk. There's that second between acting and execution where your opponent has a chance to react. A blade held at a throat. A flinch as an enemy realises they're being targeted. A spurt of blood as the blade bites into the neck, by accident or purpose, it doesn't matter. No, range was the way to go.

I've already specified my dislike of bows for their weight. That's why I never carried one. I crouched and focused for a few seconds, channelling my magicka into my left hand. Then I released it, and felt the warm sensation of conjuration, a mystic bow appearing in my hand. A few more seconds of concentration, and a quiver of arrows appeared at my hip. I was ready.

I crept forwards, using the corners and rocks as cover. I could not hear anything, save for a stale wind blowing a gentle path through the darkness. Then light came from the room ahead and I knew I was getting close.

Fire is a source of danger for those seeking its comfort. You may have increased visibility, but for those far enough away to avoid its illuminating light, it lends them the advantage. Seven hostiles sat or stood around the fire. Seven hostages were held close to each. Was this all that remained of our initiates? The thought was not encouraging, yet now was not the time to dwell on such things.

I raised my bow, targeted the hostile directly in front of me. He stood, tensed, even facing towards me. His hostage was held close, one arm around their waist, another with a dagger to their neck. I notched an arrow, drew the bowstring tight. My eyes took in the surroundings, spotted my next target, to the right of the main man. He was sat down, apparently at ease. His hostage was bound next to him, and I could only assume there was a blade against the small of their back.

I let fly. No sooner had the arrow left than I was notching another, swivelling my body twenty degrees, firing again. The first arrow caught the first hostile straight between the eyes and he fell back. The initiate luckily had the sense to push his arm away before the dagger could cut their neck.

The second arrow caught the other hostile in the chest as he started to rise. He promptly sat back down. I notched another arrow just in case but my signal had been seen by all. Two hostiles fell without any apparent wound. That I could only assume was the Champion's work.

The next had their arm pulled sharply up, before a blade entered their throat. Neek's impeccable execution, protecting the initiate from harm at the same time. Ko'Vair scratched another's wrist, making his blade drop, before her paws clamped over his nose and mouth, claws digging into his face at the same time. It was a gruesome sight. I swear I heard a laugh, too.

The seventh and last hostile, none of us touched. His moment of distraction at the movement around him was all the time the initiate needed to twist away from his grasp, and drive his own sword up through his brain. They promptly moved on to free the bound initiates still around the fire.

We all gathered around the fire, checking the dead. I dispelled my bow and quiver, and the arrows embedded in my foe's vanished, leaving gaping holes in their vitals.

"You did well," Neek said to the initiate. "What's your name?"

They turned towards us, red eyes staring. A Dark Elf. Young, but skilled already. "Melsvay," she said, cutting the last initiate's bindings. Her gaze turned to the Champion and she took an involuntary step back.

"Don't be afraid, Melsvay," I said, turning towards the Champion myself. "We've reached an understanding. I hope."

She looked right back at me, Umbra still in her hand. I did not feel an overwhelming aura from it, not anymore. "Let us talk, kinsman," she said.

"Let us check for any more survivors, first."

The Champion nodded, sheathing the Blackened Blade.

Of the twenty or so initiates that we had, only nine still lived.

The seven hostages inside the cave were uninjured. A few bruises and cuts, maybe, but nothing serious. We found two outside, amongst the dead. I would claim that you get used to the sight of the dead, but you don't. And you certainly never learn to deal with the indignation that comes from sifting through the bodies. These were our charges, too. My charges. I was responsible for their deaths as much as any man.

One of the two was completely unscathed. "I learnt how to play dead when I was young," the Argonian said. "When they started killing the others I couldn't think of anything else to do."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Neek said. "Not many are smart enough to think as quickly as you did. Go inside, rest. You're safe now."

The last initiate was barely what I would call alive. She had multiple stab wounds in the chest. Blood leaked from them, her hands covering the worst of them in a vain attempt to stem the flow. The Champion knelt by the High Elf, frowning as she examined the body. "She cauterised her own wounds." She pointed to three points on her chest, where the cloth had burnt away and blistered skin could be seen underneath. "It seems she passed out before she could seal the others."

"Ko'Vair knows this one," the Cat said. Her voice wavered, whether with sorrow or anger, I could not tell. "Ko'Vair remembers scolding her for playing tricks on the others."

With a gentleness I did not expect, Ko'Vair picked up the initiate and carried her back into the cave.

"It seems you have some smart initiates," the Champion said.

"There's a reason we recruited them to hunt the Dawn," Neek said. There was a pointedness to his words that I doubt the Champion missed.

"I was unaware that the Dawn had rebuilt enough to launch an attack of this scale."

"There is a lot you're unaware of."

The Champion's gaze snapped up to lock on Neek. "Do not think I will not slay you where you stand, lizard. Just because you hunt the Dawn does not excuse you from your other misdeeds."

"Please," I said, moving between the two of them, hands raised. "Let's talk first. Bloodshed after, okay?"

The Champion scoffed a laugh. "Fine. Talk first. Then we shall see if your fame outweighs your infamy."

Sanirion came round soon after. Neek and I had moved him to one of the many beds spread throughout the living quarters, before heading off to the common room in order to discuss things with the Champion.

The High Elf wandered in, disorientated, rubbing at his head. Upon seeing the Champion, sat calmly at one of the chairs, numerous emotions flitted across his face. Neek stood up before things could escalate again. "Peace, Sanirion. She's here to talk. This time."

"For now," the Champion added, rather unnecessarily in my opinion. Tension was high enough without her throwing out threats like that. Sanirion never really let his guard down. His fingertips crackled with lightning, eyes never wavering from the Champion.

"Now, I think you owe me some answers." The question was directed at me. I looked at Neek and Ko'Vair but all the Argonian did was nod. The Cat just ignored me.

"An answer for an answer," I replied.

A moment's pause; Sanirion's sparking fingertips the only sound. "If you insist," the Champion said. "What is your purpose?"

"To hunt down the remainder of the Mythic Dawn," Neek said.

"I believed that saga of my life to be behind me."

"They remain, lingering still. Their strength has lost most of its potency. You did the hard work; we deal with the stragglers."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Argonian."

"Our turn, then," Neek said, refusing to bristle at the comment. "What was the Vampire to you?"

"You mean Clarafus?" The Champion looked between us all, for the first time an almost human expression crossing her face. "You do not know?"

"The Vampire was not the most hospitable of leaders," Sanirion said. I could not tell if it was my imagination, but the lightning on his fingertips seemed to be crackling less.

"You are his spawn, are you not? You are he as he is you."

"You think we chose this life?" My words were full of venom. Even the Champion seemed taken aback. "You think I wanted to be turned? That _any_ of us did?" I pulled my jerkin to the side and showed the wound the vampire had given me during my 'test'. It had healed, but not to the naked eye. The wound was ugly, gaping, even. Some foul magic lingered in its pores, no longer poisonous to my undead skin. "This is the reason I was turned. I do not know what magic lay on the vampire's blade; it was not a deep cut. But I lay in agony, before the vampire put an end to it. It was that or death." I glanced in Neek's direction before continuing. "We are vampires for a purpose; it gives us an edge that we desperately need against an enemy that vastly outnumbers us. Pass judgement on us if you wish, but I have no intentions of using my undeath for crimes of evil."

A stillness settled over the table. Everyone stared at me, yet I used to back down. I kept my gaze straight, forcing the Champion to look back at me. She was searching me with her eyes, I could tell. Testing to see if what I said was true, if I really meant the words I had spouted.

My morality had changed drastically since finding the Dusk, I realise when I look back at the events. I was lost before the Dusk took me in. Wandering, with no purpose, seeking for a thrill that I didn't even know existed. How would I have dealt with the Mythic Dawn, I wondered, if I'd found them? Would I have accepted their beliefs as readily as I accepted the Dusk's? I liked to think I would've resented them and left, but the truth is, at that point in my life, I think I would've taken it. Joined their ranks, rubbed shoulders with brothers and sisters. Perhaps found some form of contentment.

Now, though, the idea made me sick. Now I fought for the other side, with brothers and sisters to call my own, mutual respect between us all. I even respected Ko'Vair, after a fashion. There was a thrill to our task, and I relished it. But there was also a purpose. Not quite righteous, but good enough that my soul may yet be saved from the plains of Oblivion. I like to think that now, years on from my time with the Dusk, that I have done enough to outweigh my dark days.

The Champion was still staring at me. She was unreadable. "Clarafus," she began, her voice soft. I could hear the pain in it. "The vampire, as you know him, is the reason I am what I am today. You would think I would be grateful, but there's been too much pain mixed in with the success."

"He framed you," I said, suddenly remembering the Champion's words before she engaged the vampire in combat. There had been too many potencies coursing through my body at the time for the words to stick. "He was the reason you were in the cell; the reason you met the Emperor."

"Bittersweet, is it not?" She spat on the cave floor. "My way is paved with heroics, yet my existence before that fateful encounter, before I came into possession of the Amulet of Kings, is far from songworthy." She looked between all of us, seemingly surprised by the fact that all our attention was on her. "Do you truly wish to hear the tale? Most have little interest of what I was before; what I became is where the interest lies."

"We have all heard of all your tales," Neek said. "All of us have tasted our own heroism, after a fashion."

"Our interest lies in your relation to the vampire," Sanirion said, his lightning disappearing, the absence of the crackling like a void in the quiet cave. "And how it nearly ended in our deaths."

"Very well. Be warned, we'll be going back a long way. Before I grew powerful, before my fame outweighed my sins." The Champion grinned. "I hope none of you are light of heart."


End file.
